nothing fast, nothing forward
by SyrenHug
Summary: At first, Ryoma thought he was wrong. Disgusting. He had fantasies about cutting the feelings out with sharp canines and shiny blades. He wanted to bleed a river of I'm in love with my brother. ryoga/ryoma


Contains: sibling relationship (brother/brother). language (i'm oddly vulgar sometimes). and sexual content. they're both 18, if anybody is squeamish or whatever.

for ato - kid. because you know how love is. nothing clean about it. but honest. and right, yeah?

(and ciel and meadow because y'all are my fave forever)

any mistakes are because I don't care.

* * *

The first day of school and he can hear his family yelling in the living room. Ryoma tries to pretend that he isn't pretending he's ignoring it.

Yeah.

His mother is perfectly polished. Stitched together with a long button up and nice slacks. He's sure her clients will appreciate the top button she's left undone. _Definitely._

"You can just do anything you want to and expect there not to be consequences."

An entire skillet of eggs is shoveled onto his plate. He grimaces. Are they Japanese or are they?

"Maybe I don't care about the consequences."

"Don't give me that look, brat." He makes a face at his father, intentionally this time.

And what is he going to eat them with? Air? "I'll be sure to twist my face to suit your needs tomorrow."

His dad throws up his hands and leaves the room.

"-And you're taking your brother with you."

You could hear Ryoga roll his eyes all the way in America. "He can walk."

A pause. He can image the hand on the hip, narrowed eyes. _Who do you think you're talking to, young man?_

"Fucking fine," Keys jingle. "Ryoma, come on. You're just staring at the plate."

Which is actually true. But he sits there for ten seconds longer just so he can turn around to his brother's reddening face. His mother just sighs. Tells them to have a nice day.

"Little shit." Ryoga spits, when they're cruising in the car, radio blasting at seven o'clock in the morning. With his sunglasses and red leather jacket he looks good and he knows it.

"Dick face." Ryoma returns. And they smirk out opposite windows.

* * *

Halfway through the day he's so bored he contemplates throwing himself out one of the windows. Five different girls try to talk to him and he almost let's them. That's how bored he is.

When the lunch bell rings, he's gone. Ryoga's curls are so familiar that he has to take a minute to watch him. Unsurprisingly, he's attracted a fan club.

"Should I be jealous?" Ryoma says, laying his hand on his brother's arm. One of the girls raises an eyebrow at the move. He stares at her. Even though he's only joking, Ryoga voice is serious.

"No. I was just leaving. We're going to sit up on the roof."

And as they leave, the girl whispers something that sounds like _faggot_ and he can't help but laugh.

* * *

At first, Ryoma thought he was wrong. Disgusting. He had fantasies about cutting the feelings out with sharp canines and shiny blades. He wanted to bleed a river of _I'm in_ _love with my brother._

But he gets older, and though people like to cover up his confidence with honesty, he knows he's perfect. Maybe that's awful. Maybe he doesn't care.

Because Ryoga is perfect too. There's enough of a difference between them that keeps it interesting, enough of a similarity that keeps them close.

Strange? Sure. Wrong? No.

* * *

"We are not fucking in a bathroom."

Ryoga sticks out his tongue. Pitches his voice higher. "We are not fucking in a bathroom."

"You're such a pisschild. You'd be lucky to have my cock down your throat."

His brother is just as adapt to dirty talk as he is, but he just tilts his head. Holds his body along the line of Ryoma's with a small, "Yeah?"

It doesn't sound like a challenge, though. He grabs the arm around him and drags him into the stall. It's not dirty inside, amazingly, and Ryoga whines when his ass hits the toilet.

"Fuck. Please. Can we –"

"God, could you _be_ more pathetic?"

Ryoma isn't one for sex. It's just a means to an end. He doesn't need it to feel close to somebody. But, his brother needs it for reassurance, to know that he's still something to be admired and adored.

It's in the tilt of his head, the drag of his teeth over his bottom lip, and the way his eyes go wide. Looking for permission.

He unzips his pants and leans on the door with his arms folded. "Go ahead. Wow me."

Wowing doesn't seem to be the point. Ryoga bends down and mouths him through his boxers with a soft suck.

A murmur. "Can I just –"

More than anything, Ryoga just likes to hold his cock in his mouth and relax. If Ryoma thinks about it too hard, he'll go soft. So he thinks about Fuji's hand on his brother's arm that morning. The way they both lazed into it and laughed over something that he was to quiet for him to hear. Finds he doesn't like their closeness.

He doesn't cum, but Ryoga's eyes are glazed and his body is less frantic afterwards, so he knows he's given him something.

* * *

"Ryoma?"

He turns around, lagging in the hallway. Fuji smiles. He wonders when he gave him permission to use his name. "Yes?"

"You might want to keep your exploits away from school."

So. "Alright, Syusuke."

"Ah," The boy nods. He sounds pleasant. Like they're friends and the sun is shining and birds sing songs over breakfast every fucking morning.

He's never hated anyone more in his life.

"Be careful who you fling your immaturity onto, Ryoma."

"Thanks for the advice. Allow me to give you some," Fuji tucks his hair behind his ear. Mimes that he's listening. "Stay away from my brother."

The boy pauses, blue eyes fluttering closed. "Don't worry. I've got one of my own."

And that leaves a bad taste in his mouth for hours.

* * *

Arguing. Again.

"It was an accident. I didn't do it on purpose."

"This is the third phone we've had to replace this year, Ryoga."

"Really?" Ryoma knows he isn't the only one who can hear the smugness in the way he lets it go. His father is stretched out on the couch reading porn. Straight sex. Gross.

"That's it. No more. You're not getting another one for three months. And you'll have to do something to prove you can be responsible."

Even Ryoma rolls his eyes at that. He pauses, though, because Ryoga has that look that means he's savoring the sourness of what he's about to dish out so he can relish the after- taste later on.

"Ryoga."

"You're one to talk about responsibility, mother. Let's talk about the fact that you're pregnant, and we all know it's not dad's."

"Jesus Christ." His father says, and he gets up to drag his brother out of the room.

Maybe Tezuka will loan him some aspirin next time he sees him.

* * *

"Well," and his brother is smiling again. They're in their room, listening to the yelling.

"That was so fucked up." Because he feels like he should get that out there.

"She's trash. She cheated. I wouldn't even do that."

"Oh?"

He can recall several instances where he's ran across Ryoga in public places, their room, someone else's room, with his lips red and cracked, voice hoarse. Boys and girls flushed, trailing behind him. Their definition of cheating must be incredibly different.

The look he receives is exasperated. "You know that's different."

"Oh?"

"There's no one like you. There's never going to be anyone like you."

"Aw." He mocks, making a kissy face. Ryoga huffs.

"Asshole."

"Mother fucker."

"Nice."

"I know."

* * *

"We have something to tell you."

Ryoga raises an eyebrow. "You're pregnant. Congratulations. Who would have known."

Honestly, he's surprised his parents haven't attempted murder yet. From his mother's face, she's thinking hard about it.

"Ryoga, shut up." He leans back into the couch. His dad is fidgeting. Which means he's nervous.

"What is this about?"

"About you and your brother -"

* * *

The words _Histrionic and Narcissistic personality disorder_ bleed together into nights and days and finally he looks over the bed where his brother is laying down, and he says his name.

Ryoga doesn't roll over.

"It doesn't change anything. It has no bearing on who we are, on who we really are, Ryoga, you know this. You know I –"

_Love you._

Ryoga jolts up, breathing hard and heavy. He looks the dictionary entry of fucked. And not the good kind.

"I've always thought that this was just us. That it was something we couldn't change. But, maybe it is. Maybe this is because we're wrong."

He's listening to the way wrong echoes, and he has never been so _lost_. But he only snorts.

"Get some fucking self - esteem."

His brother's laugh is a feet over burning coal. "We can't all be perfect like you, Ryoma."

Ryoma wishes. It's the only thing that keeps him alive.

"I've never left you. Never even thought about it. It's not even about the –" Love. Why can't he fucking say it? "You're mine, Ryoga. Simple as that."

"Yeah, and I guess I should be flattered."

Quiet. And his brother, his blood, turns away again.

Fine.

* * *

They don't talk for three days and then -

"You got a pencil?"

"Get your own."

"Asshat." Ryoga mumbles. Unsure. He smiles.

"Wanker."

That's it.

* * *

_Someone with histrionic personality disorder wants to be the center of attention in any group of people, and feel uncomfortable when they are not. While often lively, interesting and sometimes dramatic, they have difficulty when people aren't focused exclusively on them. People with this disorder may be perceived as being shallow, and may engage in sexually seductive or provocative behavior to draw attention to themselves._

Sounds like his brother.

_Narcissistic Personality Disorder is characterized by a long-standing pattern of grandiosity (either in fantasy or actual behavior), an overwhelming need for admiration, and usually a complete lack of empathy toward others. People with this disorder often believe they are of primary importance in everybody's life or to anyone they meet. While this pattern of behavior may be appropriate for a king in 16th Century England, it is generally considered inappropriate for most ordinary people today._

Nice. Who knew finding yourself up to par (or above par) was a crime these days. Or a disorder. Great.

* * *

When his brother runs away, he's the first to know and the least to care.

Not his problem. Not anymore.


End file.
